


Foreword

by fedaykin, GenerallyHuxurious (GallifreyanOmnishambles)



Series: Modern Emperors [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempted Sexual Assault, Barebacking, Blood, Choking, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Explicit Sexual Content, Eye Trauma, Gore, Huxcest, Inappropriate Humor, Interrogation, JakJak Hux-Ren, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mistaken Identity, Mugging, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Self-cest, Serious Injuries, Torture, Unsafe Sex, Violence, Walk Into A Bar, When AUs collide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8210708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fedaykin/pseuds/fedaykin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanOmnishambles/pseuds/GenerallyHuxurious
Summary: Two Huxes walk into a bar... Lieutenant General Auren Hux of the First Order just wants to celebrate his promotion with a quiet night out. Instead he finds himself magically transported to modern day Earth where he is practically dropped in the lap of assassin Eamon Hux, a man being hunted for the bounty on his head. Will they act rationally to seeing a clone of themselves in front of them? NO! Will they ever stop groping each other long enough to deal with the serious threats? MAYBE!





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took us three months to write, but it's done. It's here. 
> 
> Kylos and Huxes hopping across universes has been known to happen from time to time, so we're giving it a shot. 
> 
> What happens when two murderous Huxes meet?

* * *

 

The cantina was busy. Officers and civilians were crowded together at the gaming tables, or relaxing as they watched the dancers. Here and there a non-human lurked, some merchant or pilot taking a break as they trekked through the Outer Rim, rightly nervous to be in a First Order bar but drawn to the liquor nonetheless.

This wasn't his preferred source of entertainment but his former command was long gone, his new vessel still had at least another week in the shipyards, and he'd trained in the gym to that odd stage where exhaustion and adrenaline warred for dominance. Now all he wanted was a drink, a fuck, and good nights sleep. Auren Hux knew all too well that the last would not come to him tonight without fulfilling at least one of the preceding desires.

So what if he rarely frequented bars? At 29 he had just been made the youngest Lieutenant General in First Order history, a celebration would be expected. No one would hold it against him if he sought out that celebration between the thighs of a civilian or a naval officer. Provided it did nothing to damage the army's chain of command, he was free to do whatever and whoever he pleased.

Seated at the bar, a glass of knock off Corellian brandy in hand, he turned to consider his options. Naval personnel were thin on the ground tonight, every military uniform he could see was painted in shades of black and grey. Civilians however... So many brash young things who'd break under Auren’s particular hands, so many worn out old specimens who would not afford him even an hours diversion.

There was a young man seated on the other side of the bar, watching him with assessing eyes. Auren allowed himself a moment to assess him in turn. Broad shoulders, thick muscular arms, a well defined chest revealed by strange robes that hung open to the waist. Durable. Promising. Drifting his gaze upward again he found an attractive face wearing a mischievous closed-mouth smile framed by wild dark red curls. Yes that would do nicely.

Lifting his drink towards the boy, Auren slipped down from his barstool and made his way around the other patrons, one eye always on his target. He knew he looked good right now, the new uniform for his rank still well starched and hanging perfectly about his frame. The slim cut of his planet-side trousers felt unusual against skin more used to jodhpurs but he also knew they  accentuated his arse rather nicely. As a wiry specimen approaching a creature of sheer muscle he'd take what advantages he could get.

He slipped into the seat next to the man he gestured to the barman for another round of drinks. A hand, huge and oddly cold, placed high on his thigh stopped him. Meeting his gaze he frowned as eyes that flashed oddly in the low light flickered meaningful towards the men's room door. Eager then.

Hux wondered briefly if he'd accidentally found himself an escort rather than a pickup and reached with a deliberate gesture towards his credit chip. The man shook his head. Auren drew back slightly as the other leaned forward, pressing close to speak directly into his ears.

"It's been a while," he said, his voice deep and oddly accented, brimming with amusement that was almost laughter, "I'm just eager to have some fun. And you do look like you'd be so much fun."

Auren turned his eyes slightly and the two men stared at one another for a beat. Decisively he downed the last of his drink and hopped off the barstool to lead the man towards the indicated venue. Again, it wasn't his usual style, but if this man especially wanted to blow him and then get fucked in a toilet stall then who was Auren to argue?

The stalls were inconveniently narrow, made more so by the other man's rather ridiculous bulk. Five inches taller than Hux and crowding him back against the cistern just in order to close the door. This was likely to be more uncomfortable than fun.

A hand closed around his throat, skin hard and rough, five unexpected points of agony where long nails pressed into his skin. Definitely more uncomfortable than fun.

In an instant, Auren lashed out at the man’s abdomen with a knife from his sleeve holster, only to find his wrist immediately caught in a crushing grip. Glancing down he saw that the man's hands were matte black and lengthened into claws. A damn xeno. Had they been like that the whole time and Auren had simply failed to notice? Disgusting. He was slipping. It was unacceptable.

He struggled against the man's grip but in so small a space against so large an adversary, with his knees pressed back against the edge of the toilet seat, he had few options. He was forced to sit. The mouth was back at his ear.

"Shush shush shush, you're not going to be harmed, I'm not going to do anything to you, that would be... Weird." The voice said doubtfully, as if matters were not already inappropriate enough already. "You just got a promotion, you've no one to celebrate it with. I just happen to know a guy you'd like, he could use one last hurrah before he goes. So let's say the two of you are going to get a little reward."

The hand around his throat drifted up to cover Auren's eyes, forcing the lids down, while the other hand removed the blade and pawed at his pockets for a moment. So threatened _and_ robbed, oh yes, quite the reward. Still he sat unmoving, certain that any action to free himself now would be unproductive. The knife was returned to its holster. That made no sense.

Suddenly the air pressure in the stall changed, and with it the light shining through his eyelids.

The stall door was still locked, but the other man was gone. Auren checked his pockets. His credit chip was still there, his access cylinders and switch blade, cigarras and slick all where they should be. But one pocket that had previously been empty was now filled with green printed slips of flimsi. He couldn't read the text but it had the look of the currencies used on some of the more undeveloped planets. Curious. Not a robbery then. And what had the creature said about fun?

Opening the stall door he found himself in a very different men's room.

Where the space he’d entered only a few minutes before had been dark and more than slightly squalid, this room was sparkling clean and well lit by vaguely blue striplights. It was laid out like the lavatorial end of a communal fresher, a bank of sinks opposite a row of cubicles and urinals. There was no adapted stalls for xenos or other signs that this new location catered for anything other than good honest humans. A promising start, even if he had no idea where he was- his kidnapper’s reference to a ‘guy in need of a last hurrah’ had not been as reassuring as the non-human’s tone had tried to make it.

Steeling himself for what he might find beyond this room Auren carefully drew open the exit door. It was just another bar, dimly lit but in a much better state of repair than the cantina he'd just left.

A man barged past him, glancing at his uniform but apparently unaware of its meaning.

Auren shifted out of the doorway and paused, fidgeting with his sleeves as he surreptitiously looked around the room. The creature that had brought him here was unsurprisingly nowhere to be seen- he was on his own in a strange environment. He had little choice but to make the best of things. It was a bar after all, and he had been seeking a drink, as well as other entertainment.

Auren scanned the room again. An entirely human bar with every occupant speaking some variation on Basic. At least he wasn't stranded in some xeno hellhole.

Strolling casually down the long U-shaped bar he observed that the drinks and menus bore the same incomprehensible script as the currency. The notes in his pocket were clearly enough to purchase several drinks at a time. A man leant forward to request a beverage and the name caught his attention- "Imperial Dark Star". It seemed to be some kind of rich, dark beer. As good a place to start as any. Auren slipped into a vacant seat and ordered a bottle of his own.

There was a flash of white and orange behind the barman as the drink was placed in front of him. It was accompanied by a small pile of papers and coins that must have represented the remaining value of the note. He wondered what he should do with these things given that he had no concept of their value.

That thought was soon forgotten though when he took his first sip from the bottle. Rich, bitterly smooth, with overtones of the confections of Yavin IV and a sweet, smoky undercurrent of whiskey, Auren found his eyelids slipping shut in pleasure. This was not the standard issue rotgut that one found in the First Order officers mess. Frankly it was better than all the contraband his father had ever succeeded in smuggling through the trade embargoes.

Taking a deeper swallow Auren luxuriated in the flavour a moment longer, his tongue slowly chasing the tastes across his lips. The barman passed close by and he finally remembered himself, realising how far his guard had dropped. Still, with no need to alert anyone else to his paranoia he allowed his eyelids to flicker open rather languidly as if he were still enraptured by the beverage.

Without the figure of the barman to block his view his eyes settled back on the brighter splash of orange and white at the far end of the bar. In a second of delirious confusion he believed he was looking into some kind of twisted mirror. Blinking again, keeping his movements slow and smooth he brought the bottle back to his lips with deliberate care. A man was sitting at the end of the bar with his back to the wall and an almost empty drink in his hand. His brilliant red hair was artfully styled. He wore a crisp white suit, a slightly surprised expression and, most importantly of all, Auren's own face. The resemblance was uncanny. What an interesting development.

Auren took another long swallow from the bottle, allowing his lips to caress the neck slightly more than necessary. The other man's gaze became curious, smiling slightly as he took another sip from his own drink. Well Auren had set out tonight in search of a drink and a fuck. He had one, why not pursue the other. In spite of the strangeness of his surroundings some things truly were universal.

He flagged down the barman. "You see the man at the end of the bar? In white?" He said quietly, slipping another note across the bar. "Send him another of whatever he's having, and I'll have one for myself."

For the second time that night, he slipped easily down from his stool and stalked around the bar towards his target. Unlike the man before, who'd feigned casual disinterest, this individual kept him fixed with a penetrating gaze, his eyes flickering appreciatively over Auren’s black clad form as he did the same.

Without the bar and the press of patrons blocking his view Auren could see that this man possessed precisely the sort of clean lines he usually favoured. The white suit, a colour Auren had only ever dreamed of wearing, flattered the man’s long lithe legs and narrow shoulders, the dark shirt beneath seeming to lengthen his figure further. He looked like a predator that was utterly at home in its environment.

Auren licked his lips and raised his own bottle to take another drink. He was surprised to find it already empty.

The man shifted in his seat as Auren approached, spreading his knees rather than turning them, so any occupant of the empty stool beside him would be bracketed by his thighs. Holding his gaze Auren stepped boldly into the space, his fingertips grazing the man's knees when he shifted back to take the empty seat.

“Thanks,” the man in white said as he accepted the new drink from the barman. His voice had the softer, rounder accent of the other patrons, but with a burr of something warmer that Auren suddenly craved.

The working of his throat under the fine red gold stubble when he sampled the drink was unbearably tempting. Auren reached for his own bottle to stop himself reaching for that enticing neck and almost missed the moment the man gestured to himself with one long fingered hand.

“Eamon.”

Auren smiled slightly at the lyrical syllables of the name and offered his own. He took a swallow of his drink, the light but sour flavour of the pale beer cleansing his palette and used the pause to study the man further.

How often does a person see their own face, _really_ see it, not as a reflection but as it truly is?

Of course Auren had edited his own propaganda films for years but this was different. This was living flesh and blood sitting mere inches away. Though his own face was beginning to line with tension- deep grooves developing between his brows and around his nose- this face had genuine laughter lines and a carefree air. But the eyes. He knew those eyes and the dark, coiling, bloodthirsty things that lurked in their depths. He saw them in the mirror every day.

Fascinating.

“New in town?”

“You could say that.” Auren replied honestly. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Business or pleasure?”

Auren raised an eyebrow, taking another drink as he let his eyes trail meaningfully down the other man's figure. His free hand found its way back to the knee pressing into his own and slid smoothly upward, apparently of its own volition.

Some part of his mind was screaming that he should be asking questions. He should be demanding to know where he was or why this man was wearing his face. The rest of his thought processes- every narcissistic, lascivious ounce of his being- silenced the voice with a knife sharp flicker of mental force. Why care about questions now when Eamon was wrapping his own plush lips enticing around the neck of his bottle.

He hadn't even swallowed before Auren had darted forward to taste them.

Stubble was not permitted within the First Order uniform code and although he had encountered it on the occasional civilian conquest it hadn't been as soft or tantalising as this. In those cases it had been a sign of thoughtless neglect but this seemed to be an artful choice, another element to make this face appear so much more friendly than his own.

Eamon drew back slightly, a startled look in his blue-grey eyes and suddenly Auren wondered if he'd misread the situation. He was sure of the looks he'd given him. Perhaps this planet was not as forward as the cultures he was used to- should he have used a particular form of words? He mentally replayed the last sixty seconds… Or any words in fact.

He shifted, about to retreat, when a hand made an appearance on the small of his back and Eamon’s face split into a dazzling smile.

Well, perhaps he hadn't misinterpreted anything at all, Auren thought as the lips returned, pleasantly warm and far more enthusiastic than before.

The moment dragged out, the press of lips swiftly progressing to a nudge of tongues. Auren abandoned his bottle to the bar top, his now empty hand joining the other in a teasing exploration of the juncture between hips and thighs.

He could feel the smile forming against his lips again, the other man clearly amused by his attentions. Auren narrowed his eyes and edged his fingers inwards.

Eamon made a noise in his throat that Auren would very much like to hear again, but when he tried to shift his hand he realised it was trapped by Eamon’s own grip.

He was tugged forward firmly, the other hand pressing more firmly into his back. Stubble rasped along his cheek as Eamon leaned in to speak directly into his ear.

“Eager, aren't you?”

His breath was hot and beer sweet as it gusted across his face, making Auren shiver slightly as he turned his head to reply. They were so close his nose drifted across Eamon’s cheekbone. He could clearly feel the other man’s stirring interest against his own crotch. His mouth twitched at the corner, his own version of Eamon’s bright wide grin.

“Can you blame me?”

Eamon laughed.

Auren kissed him again.

“In that case, maybe we should take this somewhere a little less public?” Eamon asked with a coy smirk. He sank back slightly, retrieving his drink to take a long pull.

Fingers tracing patterns along one of Eamon’s thighs Auren did the same, his eyebrow rising again.

“Where did you have in mind?” Auren asked. “Somewhere nearby, I hope.”

Returning the now empty bottle to the bar, Eamon threw a tip down next to it and grinned again. “Follow me.”

He tried to get down from the stool but Auren failed to step back, forcing Eamon to slide his front along his own which earned him a wry smile and sharp squeeze of his arse.

They navigated the edge of the room as swiftly as tangled limbs and impatient hands would allow.

Just off the main bar in a darkened corridor, Eamon lead them to the anonymous looking door of a storage room. There was a small window set high in the dark wood. Anyone who looked in would see them, but it seemed unlikely in this empty part of the building. And frankly Auren was too keen to particularly care.

There was something much more thrilling about tumbling into this store room with Eamon than there had been about his previous failed conquest. For a start this handsome redhead was far more enthusiastic, hands straying into the back of Auren's trousers as soon as the door closed behind them.

Pressing forward Auren crowded into Eamon's space, determined to finally get his hands on the body that promised to be so much like his own. Tugging the black shirt from the waistband of Eamon’s trousers he ran his hands up firm sides and warm ribs with a satisfied sigh. He felt the curve of the smile against his lips as Eamon leaned in and then the first hint of teeth. Unexpected but not unwanted, Auren gasped at the sensation and was rewarded with a teasing nip at his lower lip.

He tightened his grip, grazing his nails along Eamon’s skin as he drew his hands forward. Nipples peaked and hardened under his fingertips as he kneaded over the man’s smooth, shaved chest.

Eamon seemed to be determined to do the same, but his progress was hindered by the concealed fastenings of his uniform. Warm hands moved insistently over his torso, tracing the seams in search of any kind of entry point. He could tell that the slight padding of his body armour had been noted, especially at his shoulders where it accentuated the breadth of his torso.

A frustrated whine vibrated across his tongue and Auren relented, freeing one hand briefly to loosen his belt buckle and thumb open the first catch of his tunic. The other hand remained inside Eamon’s shirt, pinching teasingly at a nipple- he would rather like to hear that whine again.

His belt hadn't even clattered to the floor before Eamon’s quick, clever fingers had unfastened the rest of his tunic and shoved it off his shoulders to pool around his elbows.

Eamon was multitasking far more effectively than Auren now, his tongue tracing Auren’s teeth while the hand tentatively exploring his shoulder scars pushed him back towards the shelves and the other worked on his fly.

For some inexplicable reason this felt like some kind of challenge. As he struggled to open Eamon’s belt one handed Auren tried to stop their progress across the floor by twisting his free hand into Eamon's hair.

He had be aiming to deepen the kiss back to biting and regain control. Instead it only made Eamon bolder. With one a rough shove from the man in white he found himself with his back against the shelves and his hips bucking up into the grip Eamon suddenly had around his cock.

Frell, that felt amazing. The strokes were firm and just this side of painful without lubrication but damn it was precisely what he'd wanted.

Auren let him continue for a moment, but he was growing irritated at his own passivity. He'd managed to get Eamon’s trousers open but there were bright blue undergarments in the way and Eamon’s own stance was making access difficult.

Well, since he was so enthusiastic about Auren’s cock perhaps he should get better acquainted with it first. That would certainly solve the immediate lubrication problem.

Auren tugged at the unusually bright red hair again, the hand at Eamon’s waist drifting up and back to gather a handful of dark shirt and pull at the back.

Eamon didn't move except to end the kiss with a questioning noise, his head pressing back into Auren’s grip just enough for comfortable eye contact.

Such sardonic blue eyes. Auren knew his wouldn’t look like that now and he let his own gaze wander across Eamon's face, looking for other differences. He didn't make it any further than Eamon’s reddened lips. They were so plump and moist and tempting. Auren licked his lips, then let his tongue dart out the few millimetres to lick _his_ lips. The hand on Eamon's shoulder came up without his conscious volition, his fingers tracing across one stubbled cheek while his thumb eased the bottom lip down.

“Come on Eamon, isn't this why we’re here? Show me what those beautiful lips are capable of…” Auren breathed heavily for a moment, “and then I'll do whatever you want to you…”

Eamon's gaze darkened and, with one final twist to Auren’s cock, he sank to his knees, kissing his way down from the scars on Auren’s shoulder to follow the trail of hair running from chest to pelvis.

He maintained the eye contact a moment as he leaned slowly forward to lave at the slit. It was all Auren could do to hold steady and watch that first bead of precome vanish on Eamon’s sweet pink tongue. Auren knew his jaw dropping in sympathetic mimicry as Eamon slowly worked the head of his cock into his mouth. It felt divine.

His upper lip curled as he sank his fingers into Eamon's surprisingly soft hair, urging him forward as the man's blue eyes slid shut with a flutter of sparkling golden eyelashes. Was this how he looked from his own lovers' perspective when he did this? A warm blush spreading across the top of his cheekbones as he concentrated, hair loose and wild, slick lips stretched wide and already slightly swollen from their exertions. It was a stunning sight. As if sensing Auren's focus Eamon's eyes flickered upward to meet his gaze. He held it as Eamon eased down, drawing his cock deeper into his throat **.**

There was a soft thump at Auren allowed his head to tip back against the shelves. Instinctively his hands tightened their grip, drawing Eamon closer still as he bobbed his head, his tongue drawing the most delicious patterns across the underside of Auren's cock.

One hand drifted free of his hair to stroke along the underside of the Eamon's jaw, enjoying the rasp of short stubble and the soft working of his throat. With hooded eyes, Auren followed the path of his fingertips as they ran over the hollowed cheeks. Thrusting his hips he adjusted the angle for a moment, just for the delicious scrape of teeth over his glans and the pleasing bulge it made against the pads of his fingers. Catching hold of the orange locks once more Auren bucked his hips, unable to resist the urge to push this beautiful creature to his limits.

Eamon took what he gave him without complaint, humming with satisfaction despite the steady thrust of Auren's cockhead against the back of his throat. His eyes were closed again, the lids flickering with their rhythm, brows steadily drawing together as he worked. Auren could see that Eamon had reached into his underwear to slowly palm at his own cock.

"Pfassk, Eamon, that feels so good," Auren groaned, carding his fingers back through those lustrous locks. He was so close, and perhaps the other man sensed that.

He sighed when Eamon drew back, his breath suddenly cold as it ghosted over the hot skin of his shaft. Precome flowed from his slit at the sensation, seeming to tempt Eamon into lapping at the head once more. Turning his eyes upward he sucked his lower lip between his teeth, apparently savouring Auren's taste. How could such a small gesture be so devastatingly attractive? As beautiful as those lips were whilst taking his cock so readily, Auren suddenly wanted nothing more than to catch that lower lip between his own teeth.

Auren glanced down at the fingers working Eamon's own neglected prick. He really was being most unfair.

“Up,” he urged, fingers curling under Eamon’s chin, the contrast between the soft flesh and harsh stubble against his fingertips a delicious reminder of the similar contrast of his kisses. His free hand fumbled in his pocket for a moment, the act of locating a pod of lubricant and cracking the top of with his thumbnail as well practiced as any of his knife tricks.

Fingers tangling in Eamon’s wonderful hair he tugged him forward, wrapping his slick-coated palm around the other man’s length as he lined it up against his own. The slight taste of himself on those plump, full lips and the hot press of his cock had him moaning around Eamon’s tongue.

It took longer than perhaps it should have to ensure they were both adequately coated in the lubricant, his hand determined to learn every vein and contour of the fascinatingly similar cock. He chased the pulse down the underside and back up, pausing to skim the spot just under the head that always… Yes. He grinned as Eamon bucked further into his grip.

Stretching his hand around them both he set a swift firm pace, knowing they were both too far gone to drag this out much further.

Eamon was pressing their chests together. His fingers slipped into Auren’s open jacket. One hand had found the scars around his shoulder and were stroking fitfully at the line of twisted skin while the other skimmed along his side before trailing down the line of hair below his navel. Finally he joined Auren’s hand to increase the pressure around their cocks, dragging a moan from them both.

He had never experienced something so simple as a hand job that was as satisfying as this. Any first encounter was usually a little fumbling, no matter the skill of the participants, simply from a lack knowledge of one another’s preferences. But Eamon seemed to know precisely what Auren wanted. They settled into a satisfying rhythm almost immediately, fingertips fluttering against stomachs and over glans, teasing swipes at the slit that had them each gasping against the other’s tongue.

It couldn't last, though they’d both succeeded in holding back their orgasms twice with stilled and squeezing fingers. The press and pull of such a perfect body against their own became overwhelming. The hand at Auren's shoulder came up to cradle the base of his skull. They were standing in exactly the same pose, moving together as one. It was intoxicating.

Auren felt Eamon's balls tighten against his own, felt the delicious heat when they spasmed together. Breaking the rhythm he shifted his palm up, folding the heads of their cocks tight against his belly as come spurted across his bare skin, hot and thick and wonderful. They kissed through it, heart rates slowly settling, insistent lust gradually replaced by lethargic appreciation.

Auren sighed low in his throat as Eamon's cock slipped free. It was an inevitable loss, the only possible outcome of such a casual encounter, he should not feel it so keenly.

Eamon kissed him again, tugging his shirt down as he tuck himself away. It was a small point of pride for Auren that he'd kept his suit free of stains. Every drop of their spend cooling on his stomach beneath his still twitching fingers.

The kiss slowed, softened, broken. “Thanks, that was…” Eamon paused, clearly unsure of his intent, “I have to go, uh, work. But if you're still here…”

Auren smiled, a little upward twist of his lips that his tongue soon chased away when the door closed behind Eamon's back.

His hand felt disgusting now, cold spunk slowly gluing his fingers to his body hair. Allowing himself an irritated growl he turned his back, searching the shelves for something he could use to clean up, at least enough to actually return to men’s room and wash up properly.

After a minutes searching he found a plastene box filled with moist towelettes. More than adequate for the job.

He was just fastening the last of his tunic clasps, and wondering where his belt had fallen, when the door behind him opened. Had Eamon come back so soon?

There was a knife at his throat and an arm about his neck. From the corner of his eye he could see a blue suit. No. Eamon had not come back.

Well, he hadn't been looking to play this evening, but sometimes the universe is kind and offers up a perfect night of entertainment.

Auren breathed, deep and slow, as he shifted his stance, feigning imbalance. A twist and flex of his left wrist and his knife was in his hand again. Oh yes. This was going to be marvellous.

“Hey there, pretty boy.”

The man’s voice was halitosis hot as he squeezed the narrow span of his shoulders under his body armour, jostling him like he was so much young meat for the taking. Auren’s expression caught somewhere between a smile and sneer. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been mistaken for flesh merchant, though it had never happened to him in uniform before. Still, idiots like this will always underestimate him for his size and they always die like cowards. No one would miss him.

The man kept talking, his tone contemptuous.

“Do you have any idea how much this body is worth to us?”

Wait, Eamon had been… no, Auren had seen his eyes. They were the same.

“I don’t know who you pissed off, kid, but you’re the easiest two million I’ve ever seen. Of course, we need to break a few things on you before we can collect.”

Auren rolled his eyes. And his hips.

“Oh, think you can persuade me otherwise?” The man sighed lasciviously, pressing his interest against his ass and letting his empty left hand drift down Auren’s chest, spoiling his hold. Good.

The back of Auren’s head connected sharply with the man’s nose, breaking it with a crunch that spattered warm blood down the back of his collar. His own right hand had already been moving upward to keep the knife out of his flesh- it was a simple matter, with his slight and flexible frame, to duck left and under the blade.

Whatever outburst the man had intended to utter was overridden by a wet gasp as Auren drove his knee into the man’s crotch. The shelf behind his attacker arrested the man’s backwards movement, allowing his blow to sink deeper into his victim as boxes tumbled around them. He’d had a habit since the academy of sewing metal strips into the hard upper edge of his regulation boots, and he hissed in feral satisfaction as something ruptured. By the sickly grey-green of the man’s face, it had been a testicle.

The man collapsed, his own body weight driving his face into the second blow of Auren’s knee, and providing more that enough momentum for Auren to step briskly forward and… SNAP.

A shiver went up his spine as the man howled, trying to clutch across his body to the backward twist of his now broken arm.

Auren snarled. He stomped down hard between the man’s shoulder blades, tugging up as the torso went down, separating the break and leaving the hand in his grip utterly useless.

The knife was pulled from boneless, unresisting fingers. It vanished into a pocket of Auren’s uniform, the automatic reflex of a man who could never have too many weapons.

The man was balding and Auren’s nails scratched across his scalp as he sought a decent grip to drag the man back into a seated position against the shelving. The texture of torn flesh against his nail bed made him twitch. He really should have brought his gloves.

He drove one plasteel toecap into the man’s ribs in petty retribution. A corner of his mouth rose as he carefully positioned his sole against the bruised solar plexus. Leaning in, his heart rate steadily increasing as the body beneath him gasped and writhed, he quickly tugged the blood stained jacket down off the man’s shoulders, effectively pinning his arms. Any attempt to free the uninjured arm would aggravate the oblique fracture in the other.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to secure him even more effectively. Well. It wouldn’t hurt Auren at least.

A glint caught his eye, half hidden under the boxes. Ah yes, his belt.

In a single nimble gesture, he caught the sullust leather at the notched edge and bought it around like a whip. The heavy metal buckle caught the ruined arm on the first blow and the man’s cheek on the second. The third wrapped around the metal upright behind the man’s head, driving heavily into his neck. He hadn’t managed to scream in the midst of the consecutive blows, but blood did pour from his mouth as he gasped at the last.

Auren tugged the belt around, turning it over so he could tighten and release the free end as necessary. That would control the man’s answers and his breathing.

Crouching low, he gripped the man’s chin with his knife hand, the blade held loosely in his last two fingers. The man hissed, more blood misting his lips as Auren twisted his head, checking for breaks to the jaw from the weight of his buckle. He squeezed, feeling the sharp ridges of broken teeth through the skin.

The man spat at him, trying to kick out at Auren’s side as he did so. The pressure of his trousers against his damaged scrotum made the blow ineffective, and Auren merely blinked as he brought the knife down and into his thigh. A scream began and was cut off by a sharp tug of the belt.

Auren sneered when a pained gurgle was all the man could get past the leather.

“No screaming.” Auren said flatly. The man’s eyes rolled wildly as he pulled his knife free and casually wiped the blade off on the man’s collar. “If you scream again I will take away your ability to breath, followed by your ability to remain conscious, and of course your ability to live. Is that clear? Say- ‘Yes, General’.”

“Fuck you, you’re not a General, you’re dead, you just don’t know it yet, Eamon H-”  

The belt tightened, silencing him.

Auren blinked slowly, turning his knife in his fingers for a moment. So, whoever this was thought he was Eamon and he’d had been planning to kill the other man. There’d been a reference to breaking him too.

He hadn’t really processed what the man had said, the mere act of threatening him, and especially the act of assuming he was some kind of sexual submissive, had been more than enough to get the blood flowing through his veins. Of course he would have been happy to kill him for such a transgression anyway, but this was a specific threat against Eamon. Such a beautiful, generous and well made man- to be hunted by louts like this… when he’d mentioned a value he’d said ‘to us’. There were more of them out there. Could Eamon handle himself? Even if he could, would a warning help all the same?

What had that damn xeno said? “ _I just happen to know a guy you'd like, he could use one last hurrah before he goes._ ”

Was Eamon _meant_ to die? Auren had little interest in mysticism and certainly didn’t believe in fate, but he also had no tolerance for waste. To let someone like Eamon die at the hands of men like this- that would be nothing but a needless waste.

He hummed in his throat and switched knife hands. The transfer loosened the belt, and the purple tint drained from the idiot’s face.

“I’m afraid you’ve found yourself with the wrong person- I’m not Eamon. Let’s try this again. No screaming. No pointless threats. It’s just you and me in here. You’re going to tell me your plan or I’m going to hurt you. The faster the answers, the less pain you experience. Is that clear? Say- ‘Yes, General’.”

“The fuck do you care if you’re not him?” His voice was high, pain addled and panicked. “Two Million Dollars man, let me go and we can split it five ways!”

Auren leaned back and casually severed the man’s achilles tendon, balancing his weight with the end of the belt, cinching it tight to preemptively silence any reaction.

“Try again.”

The man hissed and groaned but managed to get a "Yes, General" past his gritted teeth.

“There are four in your unit, but only you came into this room. You didn’t intend to kill Eamon here?”

“No, we were going to collect him and take him-”

“Where?”

“South, Utah Avenue, 1900 block, I think.”

“Not good enough.” Auren hissed, bringing his elbow around in a sharp blow to the idiot’s eye socket, half irritated at himself for poor technique. He couldn’t read the labels on the drinks, how would he find a specific address. “Try again. Directions.”

“Look,” the man wheezed, his face swollen and broken. “My friends are still out there. Two of them. We can lead you there together. It’s down by the railyard, we just need to grab the kid first.”

Something about the shadows falling across the man changed, shifting subtly to the right and Auren felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He turned his head a little, as if weighing the offer, and caught a flash of orange in his peripheral vision. Eamon.

“It’s a kind suggestion, but I have a counter offer for your consideration.”

He holstered his knife and delicately ran his fingers over his rank stripes for a moment. Silence dragged as he smoothed his uniform.

“Anything.” The man was finally on the cusp of pleading.

The man’s own knife was in Auren’s hand before he even registered the flash of light across the blade. And then he registered nothing at all.

Auren admired the effect of the black handle protruding from the soft submaxillary triangle, his fingertip pushing up as he freed his belt from the corpse’ neck. A quicker death than perhaps he deserved, but Eamon had heard everything that had been said. He’d helped him this far. Why not all the way?

Besides, there were three other worthless thugs out there.

Three more opportunities to play.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU READ THE FIRST CHAPTER?!?! you get a cookie, we love you.  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> Auren Hux is from [Ultraviolence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6311275/) by [GenerallyHuxurious](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanOmnishambles/pseuds/GenerallyHuxurious)  
> Eamon Hux is from [Killing Strangers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6533593/) by [fedaykin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fedaykin)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to go to work, boys <3

* * *

 

The storeroom door clicked shut behind him and he braced himself against the wall, sighing in contentment. It was a wonderful way to start the evening, even if it was almost like fooling around with a long-lost brother. Regardless, it was satisfying and he couldn’t feel guilt over that. Eamon stretched his neck and adjusted his jacket over his shoulders before he headed to the bathroom to clean himself up. He had a job tonight and he couldn’t let that breathtaking doppelganger distract him any longer, as much as it pained him to admit. Perhaps he’d hurry through his work so he could track Auren down, see how he’d react to Eamon’s planned improvements to his attire... Auren seemed to have a bit of an edge to him, maybe he’d like it? Either way, it was time to focus.

For the past five years, there had been an outstanding bounty on Eamon Hux. He had never discovered who it was or why, but it had appeared shortly after his father’s death. At first, he had been a bit… _concerned_. Not worried or nervous, but it was quite irritating to wake up and suddenly wonder if his assassin colleagues were outside his front door in the bushes, waiting to kill him when he left to buy groceries. He did give them enough credit to not test him before he had his coffee, weak and sugary it may be.

But, as time went by, Eamon realized that the local group had a healthy amount of respect for him and no desire to upset the system in the city. Was it appreciation for his good looks and pleasant attitude? His father's legacy and name? His impeccable record? The burnt-out limo incident a year ago? Or perhaps it was the rumors of special jobs, bodies left unrecognizable and gore dripping from the ceiling, jobs that went far beyond the constitution of killing for money. Not that it had ever been confirmed that Eamon did these jobs, of course.

Regardless, they didn’t want to remove him. And the community in place was very reclusive, making it very easy to notice outsiders. Rookie assassins would occasionally appear in Seattle, looking to grab an easy two million dollars on this young punk with a famous father. They were loud, they were obvious, and they asked too many questions. Word always reached Eamon before these idiots had even unloaded their luggage.

Eamon had passed along the hint that he was going to be alone at this bar tonight, hoping to drag his prey into the open. But then, there had been a lovely distraction. He washed his hands in the bathroom sink and looked up into the mirror. _Auren_. Eamon brought his dripping hands to his hair and lightly pushed it into place, smoothing the top. If he had shaved, he was certain he’d be Auren’s twin right now. Logic screamed at him, he knew he didn’t have a brother, he knew he didn’t have cousins either. And the fact that a copy of himself was here tonight when he was supposed to be ridding himself of his attackers? A copy that pleasantly distracted him? Auren did not give any indication of a desire to harm him but it was hard to consider this a coincidence. He’d take care of the upstarts and find Auren again. He blinked away his nerves and mussed up his hair again, a few locks falling around his temples. At least he looked more like himself again.

As he turned the corner to return to the crowd, he heard the unnatural sound of falling boxes, of bodies slamming against shelves. _Auren?_ His gun was in his hand instantly, a smooth motion he had learned as a child. The sound came again, this time voices, one clearly distressed, from the storeroom they had shared. He wondered if he had inadvertently put this other man’s life in danger, all because they had a similar appearance.

The emotion he was denying as guilt evaporated when he looked into the storeroom from the door’s window. Eamon was fairly certain that the creature Auren had in his grasp had once been a human. Restrained, bleeding from nearly every orifice, and the skin a sickly color, he thought this was the perfect time to declare, unironically, that things had escalated quickly.

Eamon checked the corridor was clear before plastering himself next to the door. He slowly edged to the window and evaluated the scene again. Auren had lashed the man by the neck to the shelves, suddenly slamming a knife into a thigh, the scream aborted by Auren’s sharp pull on the leather. His new friend certainly knew how to handle himself, there wasn’t a mark on him, while his captive had been taken apart with a brutal efficiency that Eamon could admire. A broken nose, a broken arm, and something with the man’s legs, judging by how they splayed unnaturally on the floor. That he had been in a compromising situation with this man not even three minutes ago…

Luck. He felt lucky. Lucky that he had touched this man and survived. This copy of himself that gave as good as he got, that was as deadly as he, it was alarming and intriguing.

His frustration mounted when couldn’t make out what they were saying and he had to tear his eyes away to gently press his ear to the door.

_“Fuck you, you’re not a General, you’re dead, you just don’t know it yet, Eamon H-”_

He’d been named. Eamon jerked his head away from the door to check his surroundings again. That man in there was part of the group looking for him and had unfortunately found Auren instead. He blinked slowly and listened again. Auren was discovering Eamon’s little secret and he started calculating the odds of fighting Auren as well with a displeased hum.

Ear against the door he heard, _“-d me in here. You’re going to tell me your plan or I’m going to hurt you. The faster the answers, the less pain you experience. Is that clear? Say- ‘Yes, General’.”_

_“The fuck do you care if you’re not him? Two Million Dollars man, let me go and we can split it five ways!”_

There was a long enough pause that Eamon hoped wasn’t Auren contemplating the offer. He didn’t dare move again, he needed to hear and everything was so muffled. Luckily, desperation made voices louder.

_“No, we were going to collect him and take him-”_

_“Where?”_

_“South. Utah Avenue, uhhh, 1900 block, I think.”_

Eamon knew where that was, it was almost two miles away - were these assholes really planning on somehow subduing him for that long of a trip? He was overwhelmed with disgust, eager to be rid of these men.

_“- friends are still out there. Two of them. We can lead you there together. It’s down by the railyard, we just need to grab the kid first.”_

Two in the bar. Time to go, before they got the idea to come back here and help their companion. He’d already involved Auren too much and now he needed to lead them away. He couldn’t help one last parting glance, seeing the way Auren’s head tilted, observing the pulp of a man he’d created.

He didn’t want to leave but now it was his turn. Auren could definitely handle himself.

Eamon stepped around the corner to the main area, pausing a bit dramatically, and scanned the room. A few eyes naturally turned towards the flash of white. But the gazes that lingered… Two at a table in the middle of the room. They locked eyes and he smiled. He stood here and their accomplice did not.

They were fleeing and Eamon felt the thrill of the chase. He began weaving through the crowd before stopping short and turning back. _One last thing_.

Eamon slid a gold coin to the bartender. “Storeroom,” he said and quite emphatically declared, “Not my fault,” and ran out the door.

* * *

 

Auren moved through the less populous edges of the room, trying to keep his eye on the tall redhead so he could follow at inconspicuous distance. The man had left rather than coming into the storeroom to ask for Auren’s assistance, it was probably safe to assume that whilst help might be necessary it might not welcomed. Better to stay at a distance for now; see precisely what Eamon thought he could do.

He spotted the flash of white as the man doubled back to hand something golden to the bartender. The significance was lost on Auren but as the main door swung behind another patron he spotted something he did understand.

His cigarra case was smooth and heavy in his fingers as he darted towards the door. An ideal place to observe for a moment and gain his bearings. He’d be just another man going in search of a tabac hit.

A woman in too little clothing offered him a light before he’d even raised the cigarra to his lips. The universal language of smokers across the galaxy. He nodded his thanks, his eyes tracking Eamon’s pale figure as he hesitated for a moment beside the road, the view obscured through the initial cloud of richly scented smoke.

He’d never liked that first non-recycled lungful of a new planet’s air. Too much of his life had been spent in the fleet. At least the tabac would relax him and cover the unfamiliar smells for a while, allowing him to focus on the task at hand.

This seemed to be a large metropolitan city, nighttime quiet but with the clear potential to be a seething mass of civilians by morning. The sky between the tall buildings was worrying empty, and even the tabac couldn’t cover the combustion smells of the few vehicles passing at ground level. Primitive then. The street was long and perfectly straight despite the undulating topography, the glimmer of a large body of water just visible in the darkness beyond the city lights. It would have been convenient it Eamon had followed that one clear route. So naturally he changed course after only a junction or two, tailing the accomplices Auren had not been able to spot inside the bar.

Fighting the urge to fold his arms across his chest against the chill, moist air, Auren stepped away from the only familiar building on this planet and began his pursuit of his double.

* * *

 

They were painfully easy to follow, and he considered picking the pair off in some alley, but he needed to find the hive. Remove all the threats at once. Eamon trailed them for almost two miles, out of downtown, past the sports complex, to the railyards. It was quiet at this hour, the whole purpose of the location, he surmised. The men had disappeared into a back door by the loading dock of some building, the peeling green paint and the outdated and broken windows not even surprising him. It was time. He had never done something like this before, walk into an obvious trap. Normally, he held a bit more power, orchestrated the meetings, set traps for others. This was going to be an interesting challenge.

He was instantly disappointed when he closed the door behind him. If they knew anything at all, there would have been a blinding light and thirty men tackling him to the ground. For a moment, he entertained those odds, smiling a bit to himself. Only silence welcomed him. Silence and the opportunity to inspect this new playground, to map out the hiding spots, the shadows, the obstacles. At this rate, he couldn’t be sure if these guys knew how to play ball or if they were just really dumb. Either way, if they wanted him, they had him for better or worse. Eamon drew his gun and put his back to the wall.

He felt the sawdust enter his lungs, a pleasant and warm smell with an undercurrent of dust and salt. They had holed up in a woodshop, a quick glance confirmed the open space of the main floor, surrounded by sections of specialized machinery. Comically, in the middle of a neatly swept section of the floor, sat a solitary chair. At its feet rested a box of zip ties and two rolls of duct tape. He readjusted his grip on his gun, fighting the urge to sit in the chair, _just to see what would happen_. A bullet in the leg most likely, as it seemed these morons planned to take him apart slowly. Eamon regretted not reading the fine print on the bounty, perhaps it had changed to dead and dismembered without him knowing. That would be unfortunate.

Time to work. Breathe out. In. Hold.

The wind was pushing in through several broken windows on the upper left of the back wall. Seagulls were calling to each other at the railway. The horn of a ferry leaving floated over the Sound. Tires on wet pavement whispered from the main road. The soft crunch of a shoe on a dusty floor.

There. To the right. There were three of them and they were slowly spreading out in the gloom. _Idiots._

For a moment, he considered just shooting the three of them, it would certainly be the safe and sane option. But that would be a waste of an evening, a waste of a new suit, and after seeing the delightful mess Auren had made, he couldn’t resist. He wanted to play, too. He holstered his gun. They were getting closer and he needed to move.

He listened for another moment, the one furthest away was also the one about to flank him. The second had retreated closer to the front of the building. The third was twenty feet behind him, a wall and some sort of wood planer separating them. If he moved now, he could probably sneak by unnoticed, he could get to the one at the front of the building. Eamon heard the soft twist of a body turning on the ball of their foot. _Move now._

Two steps into his run, he was nearly bowled over by a wall of sound. Shrieking, whirring, clanging, buzzing overwhelmed his senses. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the room erupt in motion, the machinery coming to life. The one closeby spotted him, wildly whipping around to take in the sudden noises themselves, and a flash of orange and white was too obvious. The wall next to Eamon’s head exploded, two bullets coming too close for men planning on subduing him. This was starting to look a bit more dire and as he rounded another corner he considered using his gun. But, where was the fun in that?

The sounds were going to be hell to keep a pinpoint on his opponents and he wondered which one of them thought turning everything on was a good idea. On the bright side, Eamon no longer had to worry about keeping so quiet, but he’d need to find other clues. He stared at the shadow of his feet for a moment before looking up, startled. They had turned the lights on as well, the bulbs slowly warming up to full brightness. This would be a challenge.

Breathe out. In. Hold. He couldn’t hear himself think.

A shadow to his right coming around the corner. He slid along the wall, the barrel of a gun within touching distance, the fool had hugged the corner too tightly. Wrists, then arms, elbows, and Eamon reached out, clamping down on the joint, the man’s gun pointing ineffectively at the ceiling. Eamon’s right leg slid effortlessly across the dusty floor, his shoe leaving a clean sweep on the concrete, as he hooked the man’s ankle, letting gravity pull him down while Eamon ripped up. The gun slid free into Eamon’s hands, one less obstacle in his path to ripping these men to pieces. The man landed hard, completely stunned and in pain. In an uncharacteristic moment of indecision, he paused trying to decide how to deal with the man at his feet, and plaster exploded into Eamon’s face. He fell behind the meager safety of the wall. The one flanking him from before had spotted him and he needed to retreat if he didn’t want to turn this into a firefight.

The disarmed man on the floor was starting to get up, but now Eamon could only see their legs. _Too close._  Eamon shot right-handed at the thighs as he ran away, a scream of pain carrying over the machinery let him know that while inaccurate, he had hit something. At least one would be more immobilized, assuming he had missed the femoral.

A few tight turns, weaving between the noisy machinery, his eyes open wide, scanning for that third man. He tucked himself next to a workbench, low to the ground to spot any feet that may be approaching. His skull was starting to pound, it was so loud and he needed to focus. Staring at the newly-acquired gun in his hand, Eamon opened a drawer on the bench and shoved it inside. One less weapon for him to worry about. Finally having this moment of peace, Eamon smiled. He had missed this.

His recent… _theatrics_ were just that. Too recent. It had almost been a year since he had spectacularly dispatched those celebrities, but the cautious looks from his peers still lingered. A slight stiffness in his right leg was imagined at this point, but it all served as a reminder. Don’t let that happen again, don’t lose control like that again. Don’t compromise everything just for -

No. It was time to remove these men from his city. They had come here to tear him into pieces for a pitiful amount of money, split four ways nonetheless! Well. Three now. Eamon felt his mouth go dry at the thought of Auren again, what that man had done had been… exquisite.

Focus. Breathe out. In. Hold.

No signs of his would-be-torturers and he couldn’t camp here all evening. Time to move again. He plotted his course, through the table saws, past the cubicles and the belt sander, the warming lights cast harsh shadows in that far corner, he would have a chance to reorient himself. He grabbed a wrench from the workbench and spun it harshly across the floor towards the center of the room, the sound grating enough to be heard over the clamor. With the distraction, it was time to move again.

He stayed low, expertly navigating his way, dropping his shoulders as he slid under a saw, the vibrations of the machine numbing his arm as he gripped the bars to push himself along. Another pathway, a brief hesitation before stepping quickly across, his long legs propelling him around the cubicles. Darkness waited ahead.

Silence engulfed him and he froze. The machinery stopped moving but his ears still played the sounds, a buzz that would not go away. He just needed to move another hundred feet but there was a scraping noise behind him.

His head hit the concrete too hard as he rolled, the smack of the wood plank on the ground was  harsh enough to make his teeth hurt. With practiced ease, Eamon rose to his feet, warily eying his new opponent, the flanker from before. _But, where was the third one?_

No time to think as the beam came swinging at his head again. Eamon felt strands of his hair rip loose from the rough wood catching slightly. His opponent’s eyes were frantic, somewhere on the verge of victory or death, not being sure of his future any longer. Eamon would remind him. A third swing made him jump away, but his back exploded in pain as he knocked into the belt sander, the metal edge digging into his spine. Trapped, he prepared to take the next hit.

Eamon relaxed his body, the blow coming straight for his right side. Pain engulfed him and he watched lights dance in front of his eyes. No. The lights were from the machinery coming to life again. The pain was in his ears. His opponent was startled and Eamon moved with the attack, lessening to blow to a gentle nudge and Eamon tucked the plank under his arm, twisting to throw the other man off balance. He released the heavy beam and his fingers scrambled for the back of a shirt collar, his other hand jerking the man’s arm behind his back. Two heavy steps forward, pushing the man to his fate, pushing down as hard as he could and the brief smell of starch turned to something more rich, sweet even.

A scream had started to form before the damage took its toll. The belt of the sander became red and speckled with gore. Eamon found himself fighting the machinery, the body trying to fly off from the immense force. He threw his weight into pushing the man’s head onto the belt again and again before he released his grip, watching the remains drop to the floor. Eamon’s eyes widened in wonder as he looked at the man’s exposed cheekbone, most of the zygomatic bone had actually filed away. Within the red pulp, he saw teeth gnashing on nothing, a nose partially removed, and an empty eye socket. Blood slowly oozed from the wrecked visage, so much of the circulatory system destroyed that it barely had a source to flow. Eamon sucked in a satisfied breath, his smile wide, as he observed the red spray on his shoulder and felt the blood across his face. He licked his lips, tasting it for a moment before spitting on the body at his feet. One down, two to go. The remains continued to slowly writhe and Eamon stepped on his neck in the perfect way. The movement ceased.

Finding his way to the dark again, he scanned the room. A brief flash of movement to his right, but to his left… the one he had shot had cordoned himself amongst the drill presses. There was a dark shine on his left thigh and he leaned heavily against the machines. He looked frightened. Eamon smiled.

Another flash of movement and Eamon cursed. _Not three, but four had been in here?_ Perhaps Auren had received false information, although his mind disagreed. Auren had been terribly efficient, brutal enough to coax out all the truths that man had in his body. His cold, lifeless body. Eamon fought back the pleased shiver from the memory. He needed to pay attention and his hands were beginning to shake from the rush. He’d consider finding Auren again later. For now, he had a scared little assassin to mutilate.

It was simple to slip over to the man as his fear and apparent blood-loss led to mistakes. The wounded man was whirling his head, searching for Eamon. _He must have heard the screams_. But he was frantic, jumping at each shadow, each noise, and Eamon couldn’t resist a little extra enjoyment. He quieted the part of him that held pity, the part that wanted to slowly slip a knife between those ribs and watch him die quietly. No, this man had fantasized about killing him. This man saw a picture of Eamon and decided that a trip with his colleagues to split reward money would be a good use of his time. An hour ago, this man was most likely buzzing with anticipation. And now.

Now, he was a coward. Now, Eamon Hux was going to happily show him what happened to the dozens of others that came before.

It was easy to look over the main floor once and see that the coast was clear. He didn’t even need to mask his footsteps as he stalked up to the wounded man. His back was turned, one hand white as it gripped the leg of the drill press, the other hand putting pressure on what seemed to be merely a graze on the left thigh. Eamon felt the warmth of the body in front of him.

Breathe out. In. Hold.

“You’re next,” Eamon purred against the man’s ear.

The elbow flying towards his face was expected, welcomed in a sense that his prey hadn’t totally given up hope. He blocked it with his his forearms, the shock reverberating through his shoulders, and sidestepped from the stomp aimed at his ankles. His opponent would have to try a little harder if they wanted to earn a few extra seconds of life. Keeping his grip tight on the joint, Eamon slid under the man’s arm and surged up, dislocating their shoulder with a satisfying crack. The scream had barely begun before Eamon slammed his fist into the man’s liver, the body instantly crumpling with a horrible choking noise.

Eamon stood over his prey for a moment, staring at the pathetic mess at his feet, and he felt his limbs begin to tremble again. He bit his lip and checked the area. No movement. The body at his feet was struggling to get up, his pathetic whimpers becoming full-throated cries, and he either fell or launched himself at Eamon’s legs. It was like being a god to an ant, Eamon barely shifted to the side only to haul this broken mess of a man to the table, firmly securing the man’s good arm in his grip. For good measure, Eamon punched the bullet wound on the man’s leg, purposefully distracting him so he could line this up perfectly.

The scream this time was almost priceless. The drill press had a trigger switch and Eamon lowered the bit straight through the center of the man’s hand before locking it in the down position. For a moment, he lost himself and stepped back to admire his good work.

A pinned and terrified man, unable to free himself, his dislocated shoulder unable to lift his hand and pull the locking pin, blood starting to appear in a slight smear on the floor at his feet. His screaming was louder than the machines and Eamon felt his eyes glaze over for a moment. It had been too long.

He almost floated to the bin next to them and carefully picked up his new weapon. It was beautiful pale wood, a perfect newel post in someone’s home, with shapely curves ending in a squared base. He hefted the weight a few times in his hands, getting a feel for how it would swing. If there was one thing he had learned, the strength of the blow was all in the hips and thighs. He needed to drive the bat just right and it would all be over for this unfortunate creature. Eamon looked back into those wet eyes, only pained gasps breaking through as he still tried to free himself.

 _Batter’s up_. Eamon hitched his arms back and swung, driving the post straight into the man’s nose, the scream abruptly ending with a thwack that was audible over the noise of the room. The man was assuredly dead, his limbs twisting for a moment in the reflexes of death, grotesquely still hanging from the drill bit, the broken shoulder barely touching the ground. Two steps forward and Eamon admired the clean hit, an easily fractured nose that sent pieces of bone into the brain. Simple, effective, enjoyable.

He dropped the post, the wood slightly warped where it had made contact, and Eamon looked at his still predominantly white suit. He really needed to find the last one, or were there two? And he’d been exposed for far too long. He stepped back into safety, his back to a towering pallet of boards. Eamon took a moment to breathe and the machinery turned off once again. Maybe there were two more.

Either way, it was time to move. He kept his steps light, the ringing in his ears was starting to dissipate and the same would be true for his targets. He had worked his way around the perimeter and began to approach the center of the room where that lonely chair waited for him.

* * *

 

It was the size of the buildings that diminished first- tall towers giving way to older, lower structures interspersed with the occasional large public arena. After a while the quality had followed suit. Paint peeled. The air stank of industry and salt. Viewports stood empty of all but broken shards of glass. Filth crept in at the margins. The perfect place to end a life.

Auren wasn’t sure how far they’d walked- several kilometres at least, the distance blurred by inclines that his ship dwelling body wasn’t used to traversing. Ahead of him Eamon seemed unfazed as he followed his prey, going oddly unnoticed despite the conspicuous suit and hair.

Of course this could be a trap in itself, the other man’s incompetence a lure to get Eamon here. Or maybe the men assumed they could still find a way to claim their credits and they’d be glad to only split it three ways.

Eamon darted into a low green building, closing the door behind him. Following him would be unwise.

Glancing around for any pursuers of his own, Auren climbed a duracrete ledge to access a series of large doors at higher level. The alcove structure seemed to be a loading bay, filled with crates that conveniently hid his progress from the few mesh-filled viewports lining the space. One door stood partially open along the bottom edge. It was undignified but Auren slid through without a thought, determined to get Eamon back in his line of sight.

The space was some kind of factory. The smell of sawdust and resin assaulted his senses and Auren covered his nose with his sleeve for a moment, fighting revulsion as he took in the layout of the room. A wide variety of machines he didn’t recognise; the almost ethereal glow of Eamon’s suit in the darkness; an amateurish attempt at intimidation in the form of a single chair in the centre of the room. These people really were cretins.

Glancing behind him Auren noticed a wall of control panels. Primitive, simplistic and so much like the inadequate repairs that had been made to the refugee ships of his youth. He couldn’t read the labels but at least half the panels included picograms, possibly for the benefit of a semi-literate workforce. On/Off. Red/Green. Stop/Start. Kill switches. Easy.

Below him Eamon paused, obviously listening. Auren did the same, loath to break the man’s concentration. As his eyes skimmed over the familiar form he noticed the weapon in his hand. Yes. Best not to attract his attention just yet. Eamon looked to the right and Auren spotted the three men a second or two after his counterpart.

It was strange, watching this other man and seeing his own thought processes flit across that face. He saw him choose his target. From his raised vantage point he saw the mistake of it. The man farthest away would have a clear shot at him in only a step or two.

Reaching behind himself, Auren pressed the largest of switches. The room came alive. So, that one activated _everything_. Useful to know.

He saw Eamon stumble slightly, attracting the attention of the closer man, but keeping him out of sight of the other. He ducked away, uninjured, as the men fired and missed.

Auren curled his lip at the damage to the wall. Slugthrowers. Projectile weaponry. Positively primeval.

He soon reassessed his judgement when, having wrestled the nearest opponent in a display that had Auren’s fingers twitching, Eamon shot the man in the thigh. Even over the roar of the machinery the meaty sound of the impact and accompanying scream were still beautiful to hear.

But not nearly as beautiful as Eamon was to watch. He moved with a predatory grace tempered with a reasonable element of caution. It was thrilling to watch him navigate the space, every step planned in advance. Though Auren nearly growled with frustration when his double abandoned the weapon he’d taken from the first victim. What was this planet like that anyone would simply leave behind a serviceable blaster?

Auren noticed the second man approaching almost too late, too fixated on the flex and twist of Eamon’s limbs to truly monitor the room around him. Without thinking about it he hit the isolation switch for the machinery.

A wall of silence and Eamon froze. The halt threw his attacker off enough for the beam in his hands to miss its first strike as he rolled. It skimmed his hair with the second swing that drove him back and pinned him against a machine. The man raised his hands for a third blow. Auren released the switch. The machines roared back to life.

What happened next was… Auren could not quantify it. He’d spent decades of his life studying the human body and the myriad methods of deconstructing it, but as the man’s face disintegrated against the rolling belt of the machine, he found himself lost for words. He was clinging to the railing in front of him, his fingers clenching painful tight as they twisted in an unconscious mimicry of Eamon’s grip.

When Eamon released the body, revealing the ruined visage and the gore splattered across his white suit Auren’s throat tightened.  

Then Eamon looked down at himself. And smiled.

Oh. Well. Now.

Auren licked his lips, swaying slightly as the other man stepped on his victim’s neck at precisely the right angle.

What were the odds of finding such a perfect creature in all the universe?

Eamon moved again, disregarding one target he could not possibly see clearly in favour of the man he’d shot earlier. Meaning that he was allowing an uninjured man free reign behind him. That wouldn’t do.

The man seemed to be heading for a second bank of control switches, possibly hoping to kill the lights Auren had activated and take advantage of a loss of night vision. Keeping one eye on Eamon’s own hunt, Auren began to move along the raised platform that surrounded the room, hoping that the black of his uniform would keep him concealed in the shadows.

There were work benches scattered around the space. Most of the objects were corded and attached to the walls, of absolutely no use to him as weaponry. But one table contained a glittering collection of unusual bladed tools- loops of metal with a single ground edge. Impulsively Auren took one as he passed. It had a pleasant weight to it as he held it loosely at his side.

A second bench yielded a larger double-handedly tool with a wide U shaped blade. He took that too.

The injured man was trying to fight Eamon and failing miserably.

Auren’s step faltered when Eamon dislocated the man’s shoulder.

He halted entirely when Eamon dragged his latest victim upright and towards another machine. The drill he recognised, once it was activated, and he couldn’t help biting at his lower lip in anticipation of the man’s screams. They were nothing compared to the barefaced satisfaction when Eamon stepped back to survey his work. Wonderful.

Leaning on the railing again Auren watched with admiration as the man carefully selected a new weapon and gracefully stove in the man’s face with a single perfect blow.

A movement to Auren’s left drew his attention and he abruptly realised he’d forgot his own target.

The third man was hurrying towards the stairs that lead to the nearest control panel. Auren ran to cut him off, giving away his position and causing the man to fall to his knees in shock.

He was gasping in pain from his impact with the stairs, eyes wild with fear. He didn’t seem to know where to look. With jerky, panicked movements he glanced back at where Eamon was stepping away from the ruined body then peered up at Auren.

“Oh fuck, there’s two of them.” The man muttered as he tried to stumble up the last few stairs on all fours, desperate to reach the kill switch for the whole factory.

Auren came to a halt with a smart twisting step, blocking the man’s progress up the stairs. He looked up at Auren just in time to catch the toe of his boot with his chin. While he tumbled backwards Auren turned off the machinery and began to descend the stairs towards him.

The fool rushed him, scrambling up the stairs and trying to unholster his gun in the same movement. A backhanded blow to the face with the looped tool immediately toppled the man. With a splash of red a shallow sliver of his face and scalp fluttered towards the ground, peeled away by the tool. It was beautiful. Auren pressed forward, raining blows that kept the man moving towards the centre of the room, too much energy being transferred for him to properly collapse. It was inelegant but after what he’d just seen it exactly what he needed.

White, red and orange flickered at the edge of his vision. Eamon. He glanced across and somehow the man in front of him finally gathered enough wits to remove his weapon from it’s holster.

Auren brought the heavier double handled weapon up, catching the man’s arm in the curved blade and twisted. The edge caught, slicing through both fabric and flesh as Auren tugged the man forward. He felt the moment when it severed the flexor tendons, rendering the hand useless. The gun dropped away.

Eamon was standing behind the man now, Auren could see the glow of his ruined suit at the edge of his vision. He looked past his captive and met that bright blue gaze for the first time in hours.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We just want to state that the response we've received is so fantastic and we love you all!, Thank you so much for your comments.  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> Auren Hux is from [Ultraviolence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6311275/) by [GenerallyHuxurious](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanOmnishambles/pseuds/GenerallyHuxurious)  
> Eamon Hux is from [Killing Strangers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6533593/) by [fedaykin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fedaykin)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What would a Hux do after bathing in the blood of his enemies?

* * *

 

 _Auren_. They locked eyes and it almost seemed like an entire conversation happened in an instant. Eamon smiled and Auren looked almost as electrified as he felt. A quick flick of his glance and Auren shoved the beaten and bleeding man into Eamon’s embrace. He kept the momentum going to slam the body into the wall. The man was beginning to whimper and Eamon didn’t have the patience to listen to it.

“You saw what I did to the last two, you heard their screams, right?” Eamon whispered in the man’s ear, his lips nearly brushing across the shell. “I’m going to make you a deal.” The man momentarily stilled, unable to find any purchase against the crushing grip. “If you can walk out that door after this, you’re free to go.” He could feel the man's hope flare brightly in the dim warehouse.

The knife went in so smoothly, Eamon needed to be careful not to press too deep, especially as the body began to thrash against him. Luckily, it was just a quick and precise cut, over in one second in Eamon’s practiced hands. He felt the hot pulses of blood against his neck and chest, sufficiently coating the left side of his jacket. The man’s heartbeat was racing, made obvious with each heavy throb of the carotid, but growing weaker and weaker by the second.

Eamon released his prey, stepping back to the doorway and watched as they stumbled back into the wall. He briefly looked down at his ruined jacket and allowed a chill to shake his body. _Perfect_. His blue eyes softened at the sight of the man finally straightening on two unsteady legs, trying so hard not to slip in the growing puddle, it was commendable. The front of the man’s suit was dark and sticky and he left a trail of ichor with each shuffling step. Eamon stood still, his grey knife loose in his grip, and watched with an eerie intensity as the man came closer and closer. The man’s face was white between the slices missing and his mouth was slack, each desperate wheeze had a wet sound to them. Eamon had tried to avoid the trachea, but the man had struggled. _Oh well._

The man was merely only two steps away when he made the mistake of looking in Eamon’s eyes. Whatever he saw in that gaze caused him to lose his concentration and he fell to one knee, sinking down to a ruined hand, his other coming to touch at the hole in his neck. Eamon looked down his golden lashes at the man at his feet. Nothing could describe the sheer hatred Eamon felt. This man had traveled to this city to kill him. This man joined his friends and decided that a road trip to kill one man sounded like a good time.

Eamon knelt, gripping the man’s throat with his left hand, his thumb finding the wound and _pressing_. Deeply buried, he felt the trachea and worked his digit behind it, throwing his weight into slamming the man onto his back. Eamon felt the cries with his fingers, although no sound quite made it out. Wet eyes opened to stare at him, still afraid, still unable to comprehend the past hour.

“What did you think was going to happen?” Eamon asked, his voice low. “Did you think it would be easy?” Eamon squeezed until he felt a pop and he slammed the man’s head on the floor. The blood turned to a trickle, the breathing erratic, the eyes slowly dimmed. “I’d ask if you learned your lesson, but we’re beyond all of that now.” Eamon squeezed once more, snapping through the trachea, the cracked pieces feeling smooth to his thumb. It was done.

With a slight sucking sound, Eamon removed his hand and stood, wiping the blood on his pants as he studied the body below him, absently flipping his knife in his fingers.  

“Auren. Good to see you again,” Eamon smiled lightly, giving his doppelganger a sideways look from across the room.

“Likewise.”

Eamon turned to face Auren head-on, twirling his knife in his hand more out of habit than show. “I saw what you did to that man in the bar.”

Their eyes locked and Eamon was again taken aback by the information contained in one simple gaze. Auren was just as cautious and intrigued as he.

Eamon continued, “And now you’ve seen what I’ve done here.”

Auren’s eyebrow twitched as his lips curled slightly around a quiet, “Oh, yes.”

“So,” Eamon said conversationally, wiping his knife with long strokes on the white patches of his sleeves, “Are you here to collect the bounty on my head as well?”

The half smile turned into a sneer, though Auren’s eyes still tracked the steady smears of blood. “I killed the fool in the bar.” He paused and licked his lips. “I gave you that last one to finish.”

Eamon couldn’t help but smile, taking a few deliberate steps closer, “While I appreciate your assistance, it was not necessary.”

Auren let out an exasperated huff. “Necessary? Really?” He stepped forward as well, tracking slightly to Eamon’s left. “You’re hardly inconspicuous. You did… well. But how many times did death’s fingertips brush along your collar tonight?”

“Watching me work?”

“It’s always a pleasure to lead a competent soldier, but they do, always, need to be led.” Auren gestured towards the carnage Eamon had wrought. “I set the pieces up. You knocked them down.”

“So, that was you giving me a headache and a half with the machinery… “

Unconsciously, they began spiraling towards each other.

“All of which you used to your advantage,” Auren paused, eyeing the blood stained suit, “...most _spectacularly_. But given the gauche trap into which you walked like you were an immortal, and how frequently you came within a hair’s breadth of your own death until _I_ changed the course of the proceedings, I have to ask- Would you have achieved such results without my hands on the controls?”

Eamon’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head at the challenge, not quite as insulted as he was delighted at Auren’s nerve.

Auren bit his lip, eyes darkening as he continued. “A little gratitude would be courteous, don’t you think?”

Eamon tilted his head down to observe his own clothing, more red than white, rolling his knife in his hand, before looking up amused, “My hero.”

“Oh come on now, I really don't think that's sufficient- I've heard better declarations of gratitude from men I've executed.”

“Maybe I should kill you,” Eamon whispered, smiling playfully as he returned his knife to the holster in his sleeve. “Then there won’t be anyone left to thank.”

They were inches apart. “Maybe you should try.”

It seemed inevitable. When they first laid eyes on each other, only two hours ago, they had been drawn to the reflection they saw. Now as they shared breaths, it was more clear how similar they really were. Same hairline, same calculating eyes, same angular nose that rounded at the tip. They weren’t related. They were the same. Both had hair in disarray, both disguising freckles amongst blood misted on their faces, both entertaining a smile in the corner of their bow lips-

It was inevitable. No one pushed or pulled, their minds came to the same conclusion that they needed contact and a place to do it.

Auren’s back hit the wall, Eamon pressing in next, hot mouths intent on devouring each other. They both noted that this would be the perfect opportunity for the other to kill them. Neither of them was entirely surprised to realise that they wouldn’t mind all that much if they died with this taste on their lips.

Eamon’s hand were insistent, straying to grasp Auren’s face, holding it in place while Eamon explored every inch of that identical mouth. Auren’s fingers grasped tightly at Eamon’s waist, warring between shoving him away and pulling closer. Eamon was quite enthusiastic and genuinely demanding, a trait Auren hadn’t experienced in years. If this was going to continue, it was time to make his intentions clear.

Auren’s hand strayed to Eamon’s backside, kneading and gripping hard enough to bruise, pulling their hips together to the point of discomfort. They groaned into each other’s mouths, pleased to note that they were both equally hard, both eager to continue a slow rutting. Auren’s thumb hooked into the back of Eamon’s trousers, stroking against the smooth skin, while his other hand stroked the white fabric, beginning to push insistently through the tight cloth at Eamon’s hole.

Eamon’s throat hitched for a moment, a pleasant clicking, before he pressed impatiently back against Auren’s fingers. Both men groaned, both in agreement.

Releasing his grip on Eamon’s waistband, Auren ran his hand up and around inside his jacket, admiring the shift of lean muscles against fingertips as he traced a route towards the man’s collar. He kneaded at the back of his neck for a moment, licking at his teeth, before shifting out to his shoulder. The white fabric was soaked, grown cold and tacky with gore, and Auren couldn’t help squeezing slightly. The dampness on his fingertips increased, and he stretched out his thumb to paint a line of red along Eamon’s cheekbone.

He pushed then and Eamon immediately complied, allowing Auren to shove his jacket off one sleeve at a time, unwilling to let go of his prize entirely. The stains were beautiful in their own way but the man underneath would be even better. Eamon had managed to get his uniform open back in the storeroom, which hadn’t been entirely fair and certainly wouldn’t be enough this time. Auren wanted to see it all.

There was a soft snort of amusement from one of them when Eamon shifted, toeing off his shoes in clear anticipation of needing to remove his trousers some time soon. The movement, and the sharp upward thrust of Eamon’s length against his own, distracted Auren long enough that he didn’t realise his own tunic was being pulled down until he felt to coarse texture of the wall against his shoulder blades.

Auren surged forward with a gasp that turned into a moan at the shocking wetness of Eamon's shirt front against his bare chest- the jacket an inadequate shield against the arterial spray, leaving a V of moisture on the shirt below. He broke the kiss to press closer, teeth scraping along Eamon’s left shoulder through the sweat scented fabric.

Eamon paused, letting the black tunic fall forgotten to the ground as he stared at Auren’s own left shoulder in turn. He’d felt the texture during their previous encounter, had run his fingertips over the warped gnarled flesh but he hadn’t expected it to look quite like this. It must have been an animal bite, something huge and vicious that had tried to take the entire arm and left this gorgeous ring of silvery lines and deep pink divots in its wake and Auren had walked away. With a shuddering breath Eamon dropped his head and sucked hard at the marks, tracing the shiny texture of the scar tissue with his tongue.

“ _Fuck_.” Auren hissed with feeling. The hand on Eamon’s backside clutched convulsively for a moment before he plunged it into the back of his waistband, fighting against the tightness of his underwear to reach bare skin.

When was the last time anyone had deliberately touched him there? Sensitive nerve endings unused to contact warred with the oddly arousing sensation of Eamon’s soft lips working across the numb areas, the warmth and wetness of his mouth registering only at the edges to create a feeling that Auren couldn’t possibly quantify. It was very quickly turning his mind into so much quivering mush as he bucked and shivered under Eamon’s touch.

His other hand was everywhere, unable to settle in one place as he desperately sought to touch ever part of this sublime and maddening man.

Delicately, almost reverently, Eamon bit him, leaning all his weight forward to scrape his teeth over a particularly deep indent under the projection of Auren’s acromion bone. “FUCK!”

Too much, too much, too much. Auren grabbed Eamon’s collar, dragging him back and around to slam him hard into the wall, pressing sloppy, biting kisses along that soft stubbled jawline in a halfhearted apology for the rough handling.

Eamon laughed, his hands held up by his sides in mock submission while Auren feverishly tugged his shirt free and worked his way to the button just below his bobbing laryngeal prominence.

Auren stopped, his index fingers tracing either side of Eamon’s throat, following the pulse for a moment as he drew back to meet Eamon’s gaze with impossible green eyes. He looked utterly wrecked- cheeks flushed; lips pink and bitten, glistening with spit and smears of blood; tongue peeking between his teeth as his nostrils flared with every breath. His eyebrow twitched. Understanding his meaning Eamon relaxed into a wide grin and shrugged.

His buttons vanished into the darkness with a clatter as Auren tore his shirt open and off in a single ostentatious movement that made Eamon lean forward to hide his giggling against Auren’s neck.

The sleeves caught around Eamon’s wrists and oh, suddenly it wasn’t funny any more.

Auren sank slowly to his knees, working the cuff links free with both hands while his lips pressed extravagant open mouthed kisses down Eamon’s front. He paused to lap at the stains where blood had soaked all the way through Eamon’s clothes, glancing up at him through impossibly pale golden eyelashes that fluttered deliciously against his skin.

Eamon was struck by the sight - was this how he looked when he did this? Was this what others got to see when they looked down at him? His cock twitched at the thought, precome soaking the fabric of his underwear.

There was no way Auren could have seen the wetness under the bloodstains but he seemed to sense it anyway, nuzzling against his shaft as he finally pulled the shirt away from Eamon’s hands.

Eamon stared, breathing heavily, watching Auren mouth at the bulge straining against its confines, the other man’s hands rubbing slow circles inwards along the jut of his hip bones.

“Shit,” Eamon breathed out, his head hitting the wall with a resounding thump. A chill racked his body, the blood slowly drying and itching, and his fingers grasped against the wall. A moment of clarity hit him - the hot breaths on his skin, the fingers efficiently opening his belt, all attached to a man he met two hours ago, this copy of him that was just as brutal and skilled and Eamon was overwhelmed by a burst of reverence. How could they be so similar?

Eamon’s hands twitched, they needed to touch, and he sought out the loose strands that escaped Auren’s tightly combed hair. He felt his ruined trousers slowly sink down, Auren’s fingernails dragging trails down his thighs and Eamon shuddered in amusement and anticipation.

Auren’s lips turned up at the corners in a look of devilish mischief, eyes sparkling for just a moment before he tugged Eamon’s hips forward and ran the flat of his tongue up the front of his underwear. The bright blue fabric darkened with moisture to cling more tightly, revealing the shadowy outline of glans and frenulum. His cock jerked, adding to the darkness and Auren dipped forward, closing his mouth around the head. Eamon’s fingers seized as he sucked, the vacuum pulling the fabric away from his skin long enough for Auren to catch it in his teeth.

He looked up then with glittering green eyes, gently catching Eamon’s wrists and guiding his hands away from his hair. He leant back to let Eamon’s length spring free of the waistband before he tugged the fabric down and away.

Eamon balanced himself against Auren’s shoulder as he kicked his legs out of their confines. He could feel the scar, hot and smooth under this fingers. He stroked at it encouragingly while Auren paused.

Auren had noticed the similarity of their faces, their bodies, their thought processes- of course he had- but for some reason a part of him hadn’t been expecting this. His fists clenched against his knees, wanting to touch but suddenly unsure where to start. He licked his lips and Eamon’s cock bobbed as if in response. A bead of precome formed at the slit, glittering as it grew heavy, threatening to fall. His tongue darted out of its own accord, wrapping around the glans to catch as much as possible.

Finally having that flavour on his tastebuds was divine, just as perfect as he’d imagined. His eyes drifted shut while he pressed forward, moaning low in his throat at the slow progress of Eamon’s hot, heavy length against his tongue and palette. It was slow, soft torture. Wonderful.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Auren,” Eamon groaned when his double finally moved, drawing him into his mouth with unhurried flexes of his tongue. He seemed to be mapping every inch of Eamon’s shape and Eamon almost regretted the speed of his own earlier attentions.

He was bent slightly over Auren to reach his shoulders, his back bowing with each slide deeper. Auren was doing something with his soft palette and it fluttered against the sensitive head in a way that built the most delicious tension.

Abruptly Auren exhaled hard, his breath gusting under Eamon’s belly for an instant. His throat relaxed and suddenly Eamon was fully seated, Auren’s nose nuzzling against soft red hairs while his throat swallowed convulsively around the head.

Eamon snapped upright, his hands abandoning their posts to clutch desperately at Auren’s hair, dragging at the strands as his hips bucked. He keened when Auren’s teeth scraped twin trails up either side of his length, strong hands clenching vice like around his wrists.

Auren pulled back with a lascivious pop, laving his tongue once over the head before standing, his eyes suddenly hard. His upper lip curled into a sneer that was slightly spoiled by the spit smeared across his chin. He stepped forward, Eamon’s cock pressing uncomfortably against the other’s wool covered length. They stared at each other for a moment.

Again they moved as one, falling into sloppy open mouthed kisses as they chased Eamon’s flavour across their tongues.

Eamon wasn’t sure when his hands had moved behind him, both slim wrists held in a tense grip, but he arched his back into the stretch, rutting against the front of Auren’s uniform as the man’s unoccupied hand fluttered against his crack.

He moaned wantonly into the kiss, trailing drool across Auren’s cheek when the man glanced behind him for a moment. The sideways shove was expected but the strength behind it still surprised him as he was propelled towards the centre of the room.

Auren crowded him into the chair, pushing him down with his hands still positioned behind his back. Eamon grinned and squirmed teasingly, leaning forward to bite gently at Auren’s fly. He was naked. It wasn’t at all fair that Auren was still half dressed.

Eamon turned his head into Auren’s touch when he caressed his cheek, the other hand trailing across Eamon’s shoulderblades for a moment before settling suggestively at Auren’s waistband. Eamon licked his lips eagerly, dropping his jaw when Auren freed his own cock and pressed it into briefly into his waiting mouth.

He was hot and leaking freely against Eamon’s tongue, clearly enjoying himself despite the confines of his uniform. Eamon’s appreciation of him lasted only a second or two before Auren pulled away, dragging his face forward for another searching kiss as he returned to his knees.

Rubbing circles with his thumbs over Eamon’s hipbones, Auren pinned him to the chair and returned to his previous occupation with relish.

Eamon rolled his head to stare up at the lights above them, desperate to buck up into the warm of Auren’s mouth. He was suckling at just the tip, alternating between kitten licks that had Eamon’s toes curling and long slow swirls that made him groan.

“Shit, Auren,” Eamon gasped, his fingers digging into the seat beneath him until it creaked. Each torturous touch of Auren’s mouth threatened to draw a cry, and his chest began heaving from the effort of suppressing the noise. Desperately, he tried to count the rafters bracing the ceiling, every muscle in his body tensing with each lap of that tongue.

Eamon had trained for years, had completed countless contracts, had been beaten within an inch of his life, but for the first time in his life, he knew he would fold under this kind of torture.

“Auren, please…” Eamon’s deep moan turned into light chuckles, trying so hard not to buck up, but unthinking, one of his hands strayed forward to rest on the gelled crown of the head in his lap, instinctively trying to urge Auren down. With a glare, Auren took him in entirely with another scrape of teeth and dragged Eamon’s hand away to place it behind him again.

The devilish grin was the only warning before Eamon slowly raised the other hand towards Auren’s head, taunting him, willing to call the bluff.

Auren was faster. He darted upward, snatching Eamon’s hand out of the air and forced it behind his captive’s back with a growl. The position forced them chest to chest. Mischievously Eamon kissed him, humming in delight and bucking his hips up in search of friction against Auren’s stomach.

It was a stretch to keep Eamon’s wrists in the grip of one hand but Auren maintained a firm grip with apparent ease. His other hand dragged his hips forward until Eamon’s backside was almost hanging off the seat. The position forces his thighs to winden for balance and Auren couldn’t resist releasing him for an instant to press a bite to one smooth freckled thigh.

“Behave,” Auren murmured as he cracked something between his fingertips.

Eamon started to smartmouth back but stopped with a groan when thickly lubed fingers nudged at his crack, wriggling toward the sensitive furl of muscle.

Auren was manhandling him, fingers digging almost painfully into the delicate backs of his thighs as he worked to spread his cheeks to his satisfaction. With another light bite, this time to Eamon’s abs, he sank his mouth back down over his cock while his fingers began to circle around his hole.

 _Behave._ Eamon could, he would, he should. The searing heat around his cock and the insistent fingers wiped away any of the fight he had left. This is what he wanted, this is what he needed, and fuck, Auren was perfect. As much fun as it was to see Auren irritated, to retaliate against those teasing licks, this was better. Eamon’s sole focus came down to enjoying this to its fullest and finding a way to wreck Auren in return.

Auren’s hair was beginning to fall out of its style, a few gelled strands covering his pale forehead swaying with Auren’s movements. Eamon couldn’t look away, groaning each time he watched Auren’s hollowed cheeks glide along his length. His lips- their lips?- looked so debauched as they stretched wide over Eamon’s cock. As though he sensed Eamon’s eyes, Auren looked up, vivid green meeting a stormy blue, and pulled off. Auren allowed the glans to trace his lips, a teasing touch that shot sparks down Eamon’s spine, before easing down again.

A ragged breath escaped from Eamon’s throat, suddenly overwhelmed by the perfect torture that was Auren’s mouth and a slick finger simultaneously slipping inside. Eamon’s forearm shot up to cover his eyes, biting his lip until it bled just to ground himself, he would behave. For now. As long as Auren did not stop.

And now the sheer enthusiasm of Auren’s tongue was driving Eamon mad. He had taken Eamon to the hilt and swallowed, the pressure increase enough for Eamon to squeeze his eyes tight enough to see stars. Despite his desire to stay quiet, Auren was wringing every noise out of him, soft whimpers rising as Auren bobbed his head a few times, increasing the suction as he reached the tip.

A sudden brush made his cock pulse, Eamon had forgotten all about the finger working him open.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Auren, do that again.”

Auren hummed, the vibrations making Eamon’s thighs tremble as he struggled to remain composed. Thankfully, Auren obliged, a fingertip that felt more callused than it really was brushed again inside him. Involuntarily, Eamon’s cock leaked, and Auren delightedly lapped it up.

“If you were planning on killing me, this would be the perfect time.”

There was a brief choking sensation as Auren pulled off, “Are you really so eager to die?”

Even as he spoke the pad of a second finger traced around his hole, pressing firmly against the muscle where it fluttered around Auren's intrusion. Briefly Eamon wondered if there was some relaxant property in the thick smooth lubricant when the tip sank easily inside. The thought dissipated when Auren eased back and, his lips twisted into a smirk, thrust deep. His fingers flexed, stretching as he pressed firmly into Eamon's sweet spot, his knuckles arching to open him while his fingertips had Eamon seeing white.

Eamon twitched and gasped. He almost didn't register Auren's words as one lube slicked hand closed around his hip.

"That can be arranged."

He was off the edge of the chair and spread wide across Auren's lap before he could react, a moment of emptiness as the fingers left him replaced by the overwhelming stretch of Auren's glans against his hole.

“I’m surprisingly open for anything right now,” Eamon panted.

“Open for anything?”

Auren's fingers kneaded around the twitching ring of muscle and in a moment that seemed to last for hours he was breached, the head of Auren's cock sinking in with a burning pull that redirected every sensation on Eamon’s body to that single point of contact.

Eamon wailed, arms flailing as he tried to grab either the chair behind him or Auren's shoulder in front. He hadn't had his feet under him, his legs had been stretched out to bonelessly frame Auren's kneeling form, and now gravity was drawing him down.

The contact with his rim didn't let up as he sank an inch at a time onto Auren's length. It was almost overwhelming: Auren's unexpectedly rough palms massaging his ass, spreading him wider; all eight fingers fluttering and pressing where they were joined; his thumbs rubbing soothing circles at the base of his spine; and the constant low grunt as Auren subtly flexed his hips, working his way deeper.

“Shush, shush, shush, come on, Eamon, you can take it,” Auren murmured, his breath hot across Eamon’s nipples as he leaned forward to press his forehead against his smooth chest. “Come on now, I know you’re not _all_ talk.”

That touched a nerve. Biting back a victory cheer at finally catching hold of the chair legs Eamon tensed. The muscles in his arms corded for a moment as he pulled himself up, easing off Auren’s cock for an instant before he drove himself down again.

“Fuck, Eamon, ah,” Auren groaned, looking up to make eye contact when Eamon repeated the motion. And again. “Pfassk!”

His green eyes rolled at the stimulation and he pressed the side of his face against Eamon’s chest once more as he fought to master his breathing. Auren could count on the fingers of one hand how often his partners had taken control like that in the last year. To suddenly have it wrested from him was exhilarating. But after those last few minutes of teasing- perhaps Eamon should work harder for it.

The shaking in his arms and shoulders made Eamon’s already heaving breaths sound even more desperately ragged. He still wasn’t supporting his weight on his legs which made his muscles bunch and cord beneath his skin as he pushed up. Such beautifully defined biceps.

Auren waited until Eamon had raised himself far enough that the corona of his cock caught against Eamon’s rim. The man in his lap groaned, staring at the ceiling as he shook in anticipation. The perfect moment of distraction.

He dipped his head to the right and sank his teeth into the tempting curve of Eamon’s bicep.

Eamon’s arms gave way, letting his body weight dragged him down with a little help from Auren’s insistent hands. This time he finally bottomed out. The head of Auren’s cock had settled precisely against his prostate and Eamon involuntarily bucked his hips at the sensation, drawing moans from them both.  

“Not afraid to fight dirty, are you?” Eamon wrapped his arms around Auren’s shoulders and tilted his head down for a kiss that had too much teeth. Using the distraction, Eamon brought his legs under him, and retaliated by grinding down with slow circles of his hips.

Auren groaned.

“Ah… It’s the only way _to_ fight, when I know it’ll get me what I want.”

Eamon smirked in response and dropped his head.

It was divine. Auren could feel his toes trying to curl inside his boots with every sweep of Eamon's tongue over his scars. Most people who got this close to those twisted lines of flesh either treated them as if they were infinitely fragile or else they pretended the marks didn't exist at all. But this, this was nothing short of worship. Eamon's lips and teeth and tongue were fighting to learn every stitch and seam with fascinated probing touches. He was moaning deep in his throat, the vibrations echoing through the bones of Auren's shoulder to trace a line directly to his cock.

Auren knew he could easily come like this, with shallow merciless thrusts against Eamon's sweet spot while the other man took him apart through an erogenous zone he hadn't even realised he had. But as Eamon groaned wantonly in his ear he realised what a waste that would be.  

He'd said that Eamon wasn't all talk but if the noises he was muffling against his collarbone were any indication he would be loud if taken properly. And Auren did so want to hear him.

Eamon's cock pulsed slightly with a particularly forceful thrust. That settled it. He couldn't neglect him like that, his cock left totally forgotten where it bobbed and twitched between them.

Dragging his fingernails up the smooth expanse of Eamon's back, tracing the line of his spine, Auren scratched and pressed his way towards the nape of his neck. The sounds against his shoulder changed gradually, shifting from feverish excitement to a low satisfied groan. Kissing along the stubbled curve of his jaw Auren nipped at Eamon's skin just as his fingers tangled themselves in the hair at the base of his skull. He tugged hard, pulling Eamon far enough back to suck at his throat for a moment. Then he increased the pressure.

Eamon’s back arched, grinding their hips together harder than before as he futilely tried to keep the sound inside. Auren’s fingers flexed harder in his hair and Eamon’s cry was nothing short of depraved. Unable to stifle his mouth, his throat was open and bared, and each tug and thrust drew more obscene moans. Eamon’s fingernails began to dig into Auren’s neck, trying to hold on to something concrete while his eyes were clenched shut, completely overwhelmed and unaware of his surroundings.

Auren's free hand wormed its way under his thigh, urging him up and off. He whined at the suggestion, legs flexing against Auren's grip.

"Turn over now, my beautiful sphalerite," Auren murmured, his teeth grazing over Eamon's earlobe as he spoke, "Surely you want to feel exactly what I can do? Wouldn't you rather be properly fucked? Come on, let me take you apart. An arse this perfect deserves to be treated to the very best."

The nails against Eamon's thigh tensed so deeply into his flesh that he felt sure Auren must have drawn blood. He would be feeling that for days. His cock throbbed at the prospect and the tantalising possibility of Auren leaving him with even more.

Eamon turned enthusiastically, leaning his elbows in the seat of the chair in front of him, looking over his shoulder at Auren with a self satisfied smirk, “And are you the very best?”

The four half moon shaped wounds on Eamon’s thigh stung deliciously as Auren’s tongue swept over them, painting a cooling trail over the curve of one buttock. The path terminated with a sharp bite and then strong hands replaced teeth, holding Eamon in place as Auren moved forward.

Auren eased in slowly, the callused flats of his palms pressing up and along Eamon’s spine, compelling his torso to shift down until his chest and face were flat against the seat of the chair by the time Auren was filling him completely.

There was a pause as Eamon felt the slight tremble in Auren’s legs as he adjusted to the new angle. Slowly one hand crept up from its position on Eamon’s shoulder blade to settle back into his hair.

“You tell me.” Auren said, the amusement clear in his tone even if Eamon couldn’t really see his face.

Abruptly Auren reared up onto his knees, one hand tugging Eamon’s head back by the hair while the other kept his torso pinned with most of his bodyweight. His hips snapped in a sharp shallow thrust that dragged a gasp from Eamon’s lips then almost choked him with it as he drew further back and slammed home.

Where before their position had limited Auren’s movements to an inch or so of depth without Eamon’s assistance, Auren now seemed determined to utilise every available inch. Every rapid forceful thrust saw him withdrawn until Eamon was half certain he’d slip out, only to slam back in right to the very root of his cock.

For nearly a minute there was no sound in the echoing factory space but their harsh gasping breath and the steady slap of skin against skin.

Eamon used the momentary lapse in Auren’s grip to pant heavily against the seat of the chair, his cheek sticking from the fine layer of sweat coating his body. Auren certainly gave as good as he boasted and in a small part of his mind, Eamon wondered if he could come from this alone. Auren’s thrusts were delicious and precise, expertly drawing pleasure without tipping into overstimulation. Eamon knew he was loud, he no longer had a desire to shy away from letting Auren know how well he was being fucked. But if only he could tease something out of those familiar lips. Eamon flexed his hips, pressing back hard as Auren slammed into him. Every muscle in his abdomen seemed to tense and clench unshakably around Auren’s length.

“Emperor’s black fucking bones!” Auren growled as he tipped forward across Eamon’s spine, his rhythm shattered by a cascade of overstimulation.

“Wha… ah fuck,” Eamon began to laugh until his words were cut off by vengeful hand darting down between his legs to roughly fondle his balls. Precome pulsed down his length when Auren tugged lightly at this sac for a moment.

Eamon groaned as Auren’s fingertips fluttered hot and coarse up the underside of his cock to smear the fluid across his skin. There was another pause as Auren seemed to settle the weight of Eamon’s cock into his hand, as if there were some strange science to the precise hold he wanted to achieve.

“You’re so pfassking perfect,” Auren purred against Eamon’s neck, shifting up on his knees to press kisses along his neck and jawline. “But I know you know that. Now, will you scream for me?”

Eamon rolled his hips and smiled, “Give me something to scream about…”

A brief tensing of Auren’s muscles was the only warning Eamon received before they began to move again, a pace that immediately drew gasping breaths with each jolt.  

The sense of synchronicity settled over them again as they moved together. Every action seemed impossibly perfect: Auren’s fingers dancing over Eamon’s cock; the velvety walls of Eamon’s body constricting rhythmically with each of Auren’s thrusts; the sharp toe curling blows against Eamon’s prostate and the counterpoint tugs against his scalp; the litany of filthy words pouring from his lips.

They were breathing in time with one another, Auren could almost swear that the pulse against his hand matched the one hammering in his chest. His nerves felt like they were on fire and while Eamon babbled it was all Auren could do not to scream himself.

The tightening built through them both, a rising tide of tension as they hung on precipice. Auren held them there until his vision began to darken at the edges.

Stifling a roar through gritted teeth he arched back, viciously dragging Eamon’s head and torso back by the hair and locking the steel tight grip around the cock in his hand.

They lost themselves as they came together.

Auren stroked Eamon through his orgasm with long slow pulls from base to head, drawing out generous spurts to splash across his fingertips and the floor, working in time with the clenches of Eamon's passage that were encouraging Auren's cock to fill him in turn. It was disorientating to feel the same twitches inside and out. Gradually Auren stopped his movements, giving Eamon one last squeeze before he released him.

Exhausted Eamon sagged forward, clinging to the chair for stability while Auren leaned carefully over his back. The hand in Eamon's hair gradually relaxed, brushing carefully back over the abused scalp. The arm that had been stroking him came up to wrap around Eamon's stomach, the hand clenched to avoid spreading cold seed across their skin.

They stayed like that for several minutes, heart rates and breathing slowing in the endorphin filled haze.

Finally Auren soften enough to slip free, a slim stream of come and lube following after to flow down Eamon's thigh.

"Fuck." Eamon sighed.

"Same."

Eamon snorted. Behind him Auren chuckled, a startling, slightly unnatural sound that somehow made Eamon laugh all the harder.

Shaking his head, Auren pressed a kiss to his temple and shifted back, suddenly aware that they were in fact covered in sweat, blood, dust and come.

Eamon agreed, looking behind Auren and gesturing, “My jacket.”

Although it seemed a shame, to turn something akin to a work of art into a rag for their filth, it was already ruined, crumpled with dirt clinging to the wet blood. Auren wiped his hand and his cock on the inner lining before handing it over.

Eamon took it with a small thanks and attempted to rise on unsteady legs. After a false start or two, to the amusement on them both, Eamon stood and stretched, soft satisfied moans from each position. With a lazy smile, he turned and offered a hand to Auren.

Pulling him up was trickier, his trousers were tight, squeezed between his knees and his boots. Despite all the the evening’s activities, there was something charged about holding the other man’s hand in their own. With a strong heave, they were suddenly pressed chest to chest, their clasped hands trapped between them. For a moment, they searched each other’s face, unconsciously cataloguing each similarity and difference.

“Well, Auren, you certainly delivered.” Eamon smiled and began to walk away.

Auren was momentarily paralyzed, watching Eamon’s smooth skin unmarred by scars, lean muscles sliding in tandem, the blood that had dried in dark patches, and his own come dripping down pale thighs. His response was beat too late, “Have I?”

Eamon looked over his shoulder and winked. He had found a utility sink, wetting a sleeve before better cleaning himself.

Auren had just managed to fasten his trousers when Eamon returned, his soaking jacket tossed to the chair so he could slide into his own clothes. They dressed efficiently, although Auren was faster and more put together. The black of his uniform hid the lingering blood while Eamon stared in faux dismay at his own black shirt, the buttons long gone. He slid it on anyway, he’d look presentable enough, and only a few small bursts of blood had made it onto his trousers.

Eamon reached out a hand, “Come here.”

Auren stepped forward, allowing Eamon to place him into the chair. With curious eyes, he watched Eamon crouch in front of him, the cold wet fabric of the jacket slowly brushing against his cheek.

“You have blood all over,” was Eamon’s only response, slowly and methodically wiping Auren’s face clean. Auren blinked at him as a hand gently brushed a few loose strands of Auren’s hair behind his ear, Eamon’s face suddenly contemplative. With less care, Eamon wiped his own face with brisk strokes, before beginning to stand.

Auren’s hand clamped onto Eamon’s wrist, making him pause. The jacket rose again, scrubbing lightly at the side of Eamon’s nose.

Eamon brought their faces together, running the tip of his nose against Auren’s, their lips touching, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The kiss had a different feel to it. The same lips, the same taste, the same enthusiasm, but now it had a sense of finality. They broke apart after a few long moments.

They stood, reassessing their surroundings, their belongings, the body gone cold ten feet away. Had it really been just a few hours since they met?

Eamon fished out his phone, “Do you need to call anyone? I have to stay until clean-up gets here.”

Intrigued, Auren contemplated lingering, but he’d accomplished his goal for the evening, as strange as the journey had been, and the longer he waited to leave the more trouble he might have finding the creature that had brought him here. Eamon had been a wonderful distraction, but now was the time to focus on getting back to the bar and home. His beautiful new ship would be waiting for him.

“Thank you but no, I’m afraid I have to get back to my own occupation.” He considered asking about transportation, or the currency in his pockets, but an unwillingness to admit his ignorance stayed his tongue. “I’ll be fine on foot.”

They both recognized the other's disappointment.

Eamon extended a hand, “A pleasure doing business with you this evening, Auren.”

Auren grasped the offered hand and slowly brought it up to his lips. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said before placing a small kiss against blood-stained knuckles.

Eamon’s eyes flashed.

“We should do this again sometime.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You win the grand prize of our love forever. The secret password is "Hux is a narcissist".  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> Auren Hux is from [Ultraviolence](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6311275/) by [GenerallyHuxurious](http://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanOmnishambles/pseuds/GenerallyHuxurious)  
> Eamon Hux is from [Killing Strangers](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6533593/) by [fedaykin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fedaykin)


End file.
